A friend brought the question to my attention – what
IS our fascination with giant rabbits? And did the movie Harvey starring James
Stewart and his invisible 6’3 ½” rabbit best friend play a part in it?

I understand that bunnies represent the fertility of
spring, but do they have to be so large? And do we have to dress up our
precious children and put them in their giant laps and expect them to smile?
What kind of torment is that? It’s no coincidence that the Easter bunny as we
know him was created in 1958 and child psychology a year later.

When my daughter was younger, she accepted that
Santa came down the chimney and spied on her throughout the year, seeing her
when she’s sleeping. She was OK with the tooth fairy fluttering about her room
and was even fond of setting leprechaun traps, but a rabbit that resembles a
grown man hopping down the bunny trail? Now, that was too much.

“How does he get in? Does he have a key to the
house?” she asked, clearly alarmed.

I thought that perhaps a visit to see the Easter bunny
might alleviate her fears, though I knew from experience I must tread lightly.
When my oldest was young, I took her to have her photo made with the Easter bunny
at the mall. I thought it went well. She sat on his lap and flashed a big, cute
smile, not the least bit afraid. I even had a key chain made from the picture
to commemorate the moment.

It was on the way home that things turned sour.

“Mommy, there’s a man inside the Easter bunny,” she
said.

“No, sweetie, of course there’s not.”

“Yes, there is. I see his face inside of the bunny’s
mouth,” she responded.

It was then I noticed she was inspecting the photo
inside our new key chain.

“What? Let me see that,” I said.

I studied it and realized, yes, Virginia, there is a
man inside the Easter bunny. In fact, his creepy face was peering right through
the giant bunny’s smile, just as my daughter had said.

With this in mind, I decided the best way to relieve
my younger daughter’s fears was to dress as a non-threatening bunny myself at
our church’s egg hunt. Well, that, and I was the only person who could fit in
the costume. At least that was what I was told. It was only later that I
learned I was the only fool who would put on a bunny suit that had been around
since the early 70s, especially when the bank that loaned it to us left these
instructions: Fragile. Do not dry clean.

Though it felt dirty, I donned the suit, knowing dozens
of kids would be disappointed if the bunny didn't show up, including my own. As
I stepped around the corner out into the open, guided by my so-called
girlfriend who had talked me into it, the reaction from the crowd was nothing
short of a Godzilla movie. Kids were running and screaming; parents were
snapping photos and forcing the children they could catch into my arms. I was
doing my best to appear friendly and hold on to them as they attempted to
wriggle free, all the while worrying about what communicable bunny diseases I
might be contracting from the germs inside the suit.

Despite the discomfort, it was worth it. Moms were
able to snap the obligatory kids-so-scared-it’s-cute photos, while my daughter
totally overcame her fear. In fact, she came right up and held my hand. I was
so proud of her for being so brave. So proud, in fact, I knelt down and hugged
her, and as she squeezed my neck, I heard her say, “I know that’s you, Mommy.”

And from that day on, she never worried about a
giant bunny having keys to our house again.

About Me

Take one Georgia-based writer, mix with humor and everyday life, and you have Life as Leigh sees it.
Meredith Leigh Knight is an award-winning writer and columnist who — when she’s not playing dress up and taking refuge among adults at her corporate communication job — is continually pondering the mysteries of motherhood, such as why the words “Hey, Mom!” are never followed by anything good.
You may contact her at leighslifeblog@aol.com or follow her on Twitter at @leighslifeblog.